


Not a Good Man

by kj_feybarn



Category: Star Wars - All Media Types, Star Wars Prequel Trilogy, Star Wars: The Clone Wars (2008) - All Media Types
Genre: About a lot of things, And so does Boba, Because Obi-Wan has FEELINGS, Because he can, Boba Fett Needs A Hug, Boba did not sign up for this, Boba fixes everything, Boba's doing it anyways, Crack, Force Sensitive Boba, I think it might be mostly feelings, Jango has no clue what's gotten into his son, Look it's not Obi-Wan's fault he charms literally everyone he meets, M/M, Obi-Wan Kenobi Needs a Hug, Sort of treated seriously, Time Travel, and also plays matchmaker, but also a little?, but also not at all, but he loves him anyways, everyone else is just along for the ride, including the people that want to kill him, though he'll deny that, warning: this was supposed to be mostly crack with a little bit of feelings, whoops
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-05-19
Updated: 2021-01-13
Packaged: 2021-03-03 02:09:10
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 7
Words: 17,177
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/24277138
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/kj_feybarn/pseuds/kj_feybarn
Summary: “Right.” Boba was too drunk and Obi-Wan was too dead for them to be having this conversation. “So, what are you doing here, if you’re actually dead and I’m not hallucinating.”Obi-Wan sighed a little bit. “I’m here to ask a favor that may or may not ruin your life.”Boba blinked at him. “Well, at least you’re honest about it."Obi-Wan looked exhausted. Boba had always kind of assumed that dying meant you got to rest, but Obi-Wan seemed far from rested. “Vader has gotten an idea in his head—” And yep, Boba could see where Obi-Wan was going with his whole ‘may or may not ruin his life’ bit. “—that he can change the past.”Boba snorted. “Has anyone ever told Vader that he’s delusional? You can’t change the past."Except Obi-Wan didn’t agree.
Relationships: Boba Fett & Jango Fett, Boba Fett & Obi-Wan Kenobi, Jango Fett/Obi-Wan Kenobi
Comments: 724
Kudos: 3053
Collections: Best of Fanfiction, Jedi Journals





	1. One of those Fools

Once, Boba had hated the Jetii.

He still didn’t exactly _like_ them, but it was hard to hate a group of people that he’d watched be systematically executed and the very few survivors hunted down and slaughtered.

So no. Boba didn’t really hate the Jetii anymore.

But, gods help him, Obi-Wan Kenobi drove him _insane_.

“Disintegration,” the old man said, nodding seriously. “We’ll make it look like it was disintegration.”

“It won’t work.” As was normal, Obi-Wan ignored him, and _how_ had Boba’s brothers-but-not-brothers dealt with him? Commander Cody must have been some sort of deity to have spent three years at Kenobi’s side and not murdered him.

Boba flinched at the thought and hoped that Obi-Wan hadn’t gotten a hint of it in his whole ‘Force’ sense, because Boba had a couple of lines he tried not to cross and reminding Obi-Wan that his trusted Commander had been forced to kill him would probably cross some of those.

“You’ll still get the bounty reward for taking out Obi-Wan Kenobi, which, if I do say so myself, is starting to get ridiculously exorbitant, while I get to once again disappear with no one looking for me.”

“Until you blow your cover _again_ ,” Boba argued, and he wondered, not for the first time, if Obi-Wan was _really_ this ridiculous or if he was trying to make Boba _really_ murder him. “And then it looks like I don’t know how to do my job. I’ve got a _reputation_ , Kenobi. And you’ll ruin it.”

Obi-Wan snorted. “And I have a reputation for making even _Vader_ look like a fool. No one’s going to be judging you too harshly when they’ve all been fooled just as badly.”

“I’d like to _not_ be one of those fools.” Boba wasn’t pouting, he wasn’t.

Boba was wearing his helmet, but the smirk on Obi-Wan’s face said he knew that Boba was pouting and found it hilarious. “Ah, young Fett, everyone is one of those fools.”

Sometimes Boba wondered what would have happened if his Buir and Kenobi had actually had the chance to know each other instead of fighting once and then his Buir being killed by kriffin’ Windu. He was always split on whether his Buir would have murdered Kenobi for being the most annoying person he’d ever met, or if his Buir would have been as reluctantly charmed by the man the way everyone else was.

Boba included.

He had genuinely planned to murder Kenobi the first time. The bounty for all surviving Jetii was pretty high, but Boba had mostly ignored them—the whole genocide thing having somewhat turned him off. But Kenobi’s bounty was astronomical, and Boba had still had enough left over hatred over the fact that if Kenobi had never shown up on Kamino then his Buir would never have ended up murdered on Geonosis to convince himself that going after Kenobi was _fair_.

But then Obi-Wan had managed to get the drop on Boba, and somehow there’d been _tea_ and _dinner_ involved, and the next thing Boba knew he’d been helping Obi-Wan sneak past an imperial blockade and they were sort-of-kind-of friends.

He genuinely had no idea how the man did it.

“Aren’t you supposed to be hiding out on some desert planet?” Boba complained. “Why do I keep running into you while you make a mess of everything?”

“I’ll make no apologies for making a mess of the Empire’s dealings,” Obi-Wan said easily. “And whose to say I wasn’t hiding out here this whole time?”

Boba snorted. “Because if you _had_ been hiding out here, you wouldn’t be having this conversation with me right now because I’d have never found you.”

“Perhaps I made a mistake,” Obi-Wan offered. Boba just raised an eyebrow and Obi-Wan—who always seemed to know what look Boba was giving him, despite the fact that Boba was wearing his helmet—huffed. “All right, so I haven’t been hiding out on this planet. But I had reason for being here and reason for drawing attention to myself.”

“What was it?”

This time Obi-Wan gave him a raised eyebrow.

“Oh come on.” Boba _did not pout_. “I’m about to help you fake your death _again_.” It was kind of amazing that anyone ever believed Kenobi was dead, since Boba was pretty sure—if he counted that time during the war—that Kenobi had faked his death at least five or six times now. Boba had already helped him do it twice. “Although I suppose I should be grateful I get credit for it this time.”

“Yes, you could probably retire, with how many credits this will gain you.” Obi-Wan said, as though him faking his death was doing _Boba_ a favor.

“I should at least get to know why you decided to bring the attention of three different imperial battalions and half the bounty hunters’ guild down on you.”

Obi-Wan’s face did that _thing_ , where his eyes went all sad but the rest of his face twisted into a snooty glare. “It’s not—”

“ _Please_.”

Obi-Wan sighed. “I’d heard rumor that some of my men from the 212th were going to be here,” Obi-Wan admitted. “I’d hoped that perhaps I’d be able to draw some of them out to hunt me.”

Boba slumped a little. It wasn’t really a surprise. He’d known Obi-Wan long enough now to know that Kenobi had _loved_ Boba’s brothers-but-not-brothers, and that their ‘betrayal’ had almost killed Kenobi more than the actual cannon they’d shot at him had.

—Obi-Wan would probably have preferred that Boba never knew that, but Boba had been seen the nightmare and the tears that Obi-Wan pretended weren’t there when he woke up—

“What were you going to do, kidnap them?”

Obi-Wan shrugged.

Boba closed his eyes and reminded himself that banging his head on a wall wouldn’t help him. “And then, what, smuggle a bunch of unconscious troopers past everyone hunting you?”

Obi-Wan shrugged again.

“I don’t know how the hell you’re still alive.” Boba decided. “ _Were_ there any of the 212th around?” Because it was the stupidest plan Boba had ever heard, but if Obi-Wan had already gotten this far in his plan, Boba might as well end up helping him to make sure that neither Kenobi or Boba’s brothers-but-not-brothers ended up dead.

“No.” Obi-Wan’s voice wasn’t sad. Boba didn’t think he’d ever actually heard Obi-Wan _be_ sad, as though he thought that if he let some of the sorrow that literally _emanated_ from him be heard then people would realize that he wasn’t Obi-Wan ‘untouchable’ Kenobi, but rather a man that had been betrayed and lost everything and was just doing his best to survive in a galaxy that wanted to destroy him.

—sometimes Boba thought that was what had really won Boba over into being Obi-Wan Kenobi’s friend. Because sometimes he looked at Obi-Wan Kenobi, whose whole world had been destroyed and he was still maintaining that he was _fine_ , and he saw his buir again, who had known his own fair share of loss and had still kept all of that grief inside so that no one could ever use it against him.—

“Fine.” Boba decided. “Disintegration. We’ll pretend to disintegrate you, but you’re going to stay out of sight for _at least_ a year, if not two.”

Obi-Wan smiled at him as though they _weren’t_ planning how to fake Kenobi’s death so that he could lose the hundreds of imperials and hunters that were currently on his tail. “Thank you, Boba.”

“You’re trouble, Kenobi.” Boba said, and he tried, tried, tried to keep his fondness out of his voice.

“Oh, that is _undoubtedly_ true.” Obi-Wan said, and this time his smile seemed almost genuine. Boba had a bad feeling that Obi-Wan wouldn’t even make it half a year before he made Boba’s life difficult again.

—five months later, as he helped Obi-Wan smuggle a squad of troopers off planet and to a medical facility run by rebel sympathizers, he was proven right. Obi-Wan was _trouble_.—

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> In a very rare moment for me, this story has actually almost been entirely written! (...let's all hope I didn't just jinx myself and end up getting bit by an idea that requires that I re-write/add more to the story than is already there.)
> 
> It's a bit on the cracky side? But also not? I don't know what this is. But it was fun to write, so I hope it ends up being at least a little fun for anyone who reads it.


	2. Favor for a Dead Man

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> “Did you fake your death again?” Boba asked. Because that seemed a reasonable question to ask, even if it didn’t explain why Obi-Wan was blue.
> 
> “Oh no.” Obi-Wan smiled at him, and Boba found it odd how he couldn’t quite determine what age Obi-Wan was. Boba blamed it on the alcohol. “I’m quite dead, I assure you.”
> 
> Boba nodded and accepted that.

Boba only learned that Obi-Wan had been killed—for real this time—nearly a year after it had happened.

He’d heard rumors, of course. But he’d heard rumors of Kenobi’s death so many times over the years—had helped contribute to so many of them—that he hadn’t actually given them much thought.

He’d started getting mildly concerned—not worried, never worried—a few months in, when he hadn’t seen or heard from Obi-Wan. It was unusual for them to go so long without some sort of communication. But he’d been aware of the turmoil the Rebellion was going through after Alderaan and the whole Death Star shtick, so he’d just assumed that Obi-Wan was busy.

After all, Kenobi had faked his death more times than Boba could count, surely he’d just done it again.

Except this time, somehow, it was real.

It’d been at Vader’s hand, or so he heard. Which… wasn’t a surprise. Everyone who paid enough attention knew that Vader was just the slightest bit obsessed with Kenobi.

Boba… wasn’t sad, per say. He and Obi-Wan were sort-of friends, but only sort of. And if that was a more solid friendship than the majority of what Boba had, then that just meant that Boba was a loner who liked it that way.

But it did mean that when a ghostly blue figure showed up while Boba was _definitely not_ in mourning for a man he’d only barely known and only kind of liked, that he’d had enough alcohol in his system to not be sure it was actually happening.

“Did you fake your death _again_?” Boba asked. Because that seemed a reasonable question to ask, even if it didn’t explain why Obi-Wan was blue.

“Oh no.” Obi-Wan smiled at him, and Boba found it odd how he couldn’t quite determine what age Obi-Wan was. He looked old, as old as he’d looked the last time Boba had, completely unintentionally of course, run across him, and yet at the same time he looked young, like he had that first time Boba had met him, when Boba had been a ten year old whose whole life hadn’t yet been thrown into chaos with the death of his buir. Boba blamed it on the alcohol. “I’m quite dead, I assure you.”

Boba nodded and accepted that. “So I’m hallucinating you? Cause, got to say. While I don’t hate you, if I were going to hallucinate a dead man, I have a list of people that I’d pick to see before you.”

Obi-Wan didn’t seem at all offended. “That’s fair. But I’m afraid I’m not a hallucination. I’m quite real.”

Boba’s stomach clenched a little bit, and he wondered if maybe he’d had a _bit_ too much to drink. “Tell me it’s Force osik.”

Obi-Wan’s face got so damned soft and Boba kind of hated him. Hated him for being soft and kind. Hated him for being ridiculous and reckless. Hated him for being dead and leaving Boba. “It is because of the Force, yes. If your father was capable of such, he’d have come to you long before.”

And that. That was another reason why Boba hated him, because Boba hadn’t said anything about his buir and here Obi-Wan was knowing that some part of Boba had wondered that why, if dead people could apparently appear to him, his buir hadn’t.

“That’s not what I meant.” It had been. “And anyways, it’s been over two decades—”

“And that’ll never stop you from loving him.” Obi-Wan finished, and Boba wished that Obi-Wan would go back to being a reckless idiot that made plans that’d get him killed, and stop being all wise and kind and all that osik.

“Right.” Boba was too drunk and Obi-Wan was too dead for them to be having this conversation. “So, what are you doing here, if you’re actually dead and I’m not hallucinating.”

Obi-Wan sighed a little bit. “I’m here to ask a favor that may or may not ruin your life.”

Boba blinked at him. “Well, at least you’re honest about it.” He tried to figure out how Obi-Wan could possibly ruin his life more than it already was. “Did your little youngling that I’ve never had confirmation exists get into trouble? Because I’ve got to say, after having bailed you out of trouble as often as I have, I think I could probably handle that. No one could be as terrible as you are.”

Obi-Wan rolled his eyes. “You hardly bailed me out of trouble, Boba.”

Boba narrowed his eyes. “I have a list, do you want—”

“Anyways,” Obi-Wan continued, ignoring him. “I’m not here to ask you to join the Rebellion. Luke and Leia are doing just fine, and I’m looking out for them both as well as I can.”

Two younglings, that probably weren’t so young, huh. Boba was only kind of surprised, he made a mental note to see if he could track them down, because if they were _anything_ like Obi-Wan than they’d probably get themselves neck deep in trouble in no time and would absolutely need someone to bail them out and Obi-Wan was too dead to do that himself. Not that Boba would be the one to do it.

And even if he did, it would just be because he liked it when people owed him.

He pushed the thought aside and back to the matter at hand. “So…”

Obi-Wan _sighed,_ and he sounded exhausted. Boba had always kind of assumed that dying meant you got to rest, but Obi-Wan seemed far from rested. “Vader has… gotten an idea in his head—” And yep, Boba could already see where Obi-Wan was going with this whole ‘may or may not ruin his life’ bit. “—that he can change the past.”

Boba snorted. “Has anyone ever told Vader that he’s delusional?”

Obi-Wan smiled, but it was the sad smile that Boba hated but had never truly understood. Sure, Vader was awful, but that shouldn’t make Obi-Wan _this_ sort of sad. “I don’t think most people are brave enough, and to be fair, most of them would probably be dead if they tried.”

“You can’t change the past,” Boba pointed out. “You’d think one or two more people would think that reason enough to say something.”

Except Obi-Wan didn’t agree, no, instead Obi-Wan _hesitated_.

“Wait… you _can’t_ change the past, can you?” Boba asked, because he _was_ talking to the apparition of a dead man, and before this Boba had been pretty sure you couldn’t do that either.

He glanced down at the alcohol in his hand and wondered if maybe he really had had too much to drink. He did his best, generally, to not let himself get drunk, because that seemed like a good way to get dead, but maybe he’d misjudged the strength of the alcohol.

“Normally, I’d say that you’re right and the idea that someone could change the past is ridiculous, to say the least.”

Boba just blinked several times. “Normally.” That was not the sort of qualifier that Boba wanted to hear.

“But in this case, there appears to be a small chance that Vader is, for once, actually right. And as you can possibly imagine, I’d rather not let Vader go back in time and make the galaxy even more of a mess than it already is.”

Boba shrugged, because he got where Obi-Wan was coming from, but also… “Can it really get worse?”

Obi-Wan looked terribly sad. “Oh yes, I assure you, it could.”

Boba stared at him for a long minute. “Your people were slaughtered, the galaxy is run by a corrupt Empire, _you’re dead_. How could it get worse?”

“We could have no hope, Boba.”

Boba looked away, because what hope _was_ there? Boba had almost no faith in the Rebellion, even if, by some _miracle_ they got rid of the Empire, it wouldn’t help _Boba_.

Boba’s people were just as dead as Kenobi’s. And really, he was surviving fine under the Empire, and anything the Rebellion built would probably just make his life worse. And sure, he wasn’t dead, _yet_ , but what did that matter when there was no one in the galaxy that cared he was alive?

Obi-Wan’s eyes got all soft again, and Boba wondered if being dead had made him better at reading Boba’s mind, because if so, that absolutely karked. “I’m very glad you’re still alive, Boba.”

“Only because you want to use me,” Boba grumbled, choosing to ignore that most of the times he’d run into Obi-Wan, back when Obi-Wan _hadn’t_ been dead, it had always been Boba who had volunteered his help because Obi-Wan had never asked anything of him—even though he really _should have_ , because really, how had the man stayed alive as long as he had with all the stupid plans he came up with?—no, he had just given Boba tea and listened to him talk and somehow been the closest thing to a fam—

He blocked the thoughts, glaring at the apparition and _daring_ him to be stupid enough to say anything about what Boba had been thinking.

Obi-Wan didn’t, because sometimes Obi-Wan had a smattering of self-preservation, even if he maybe didn’t need it anymore since he was dead.

Boba sighed. “Okay. So what exactly do you want me to do about the whole ‘Vader wants to time travel,’ thing?”

Obi-Wan gave him a grateful smile and Boba was _not_ affected, thank you very much, he was an adult and didn’t need validation from anyone, especially _not_ Kenobi.

“I know this is a lot to ask, Boba. But someone needs to destroy the artifact before Vader gets a hold of it.”

Obi-Wan hadn’t mentioned an artifact before, but Boba supposed that it _did_ make sense. And it made Boba’s life easier, probably. Hopefully.

“All right.” He nodded. “Tell me where to go and I’ll go destroy this artifact. And probably die in the attempt.” He wasn’t trying to make Obi-Wan feel guilty, not at all.

“I’ll protect you as much as I can,” Obi-Wan promised, and Boba believed it because it was _Obi-Wan._

“Whatever.”

Obi-Wan sighed. “You’re a good man, Boba Fett.”

Boba glared at him. Because Boba _wasn’t_ a good man, and he didn’t need Kenobi being all sentimental at him.

“Why aren’t you having your younglings do this instead of me?” Boba asked to distract Obi-Wan from being sentimental and because he didn’t actually think that Obi-Wan wanted him to die. Mostly. Probably. Okay, so most people Boba knew wouldn’t care if he died, and it would suck if the one person Boba thought might have cared was willing to trade his life for some stupid artifact.

Obi-Wan was quiet for a moment, but when he spoke there was no hiding the genuine emotion in his voice. “You’re not expendable, Boba.”

Boba wondered how many times Kenobi had said that to his brothers-but-not-brothers, but then decided he didn’t want to think about it.

“Okay. But why me?”

“Because I trust that you’re capable.” Obi-Wan said slowly. “And that you’re practical enough to understand the costs—” He sighed. “Because in my current state I can’t do it myself, or I would, and I _trust_ you.”

Boba didn’t want to think what it meant that a dead man trusted Boba more than he did some kids that Boba was pretty sure Kenobi had watched over for nearly all his life. He definitely didn’t want to think about the fact that it warmed him far more than the alcohol had. Instead, Boba read between the lines of the rest of what Obi-Wan had said.

Even if Boba thought life sucked, even if there was so much that he wished was different, he hadn’t even for a second thought about trying to use the artifact himself. Apparently Obi-Wan thought Boba was good at resisting temptation.

The truth was Boba just knew he’d screw it up if he tried.

“Okay.” He sighed. “Go figure you show up now, when I’m enjoying myself. Your timing sucks.” He wasn’t actually enjoying himself. Drinking wasn’t something he did for fun. He was only throwing it out there because he was curious, and not because he was hurting, not at all. Except he was a little, because why was Obi-Wan only _now_ showing up? He’d been dead for a year already.

“I didn’t realize you’d be able to see me, or I’d have come visit earlier.” Obi-Wan said, which had nothing to do with what Boba had asked, and would Obi-Wan _stop_ answering questions Boba hadn’t asked?

“What does that mean?”

“Only Force Sensitives can see me.” Obi-Wan explained.

“I’m not—” Boba started, and Obi-Wan gestured at his ghostly form with his ghostly hands, as though to say ‘you see me, don’t you? So therefore you must be.’ “My buir wasn’t.” Boba said instead. Because he was a clone, and his buir hadn’t been Force Sensitive, so he _couldn’t_ be, and what if his buir wouldn’t love him if Boba wasn’t exactly…

“The Force is rarely so understandable as to follow all the rules of genetics.” Obi-Wan said. “I’m sure your father would have loved you just as much as he always had.”

“You didn’t know him.” Boba pointed out, but let the assurance warm him because he _wanted_ it to be true. “Death has made you really annoying, you know. Stop being all—” he gestured at Obi-Wan to indicate the entirety of him.

Obi-Wan just shrugged. “While undoubtedly true, I’m afraid that won’t be changing.”

Boba figured as much; and if he was secretly glad of that fact, at least Obi-Wan was smart enough not say anything about it.


	3. Character Flaws

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Vader Throws a Temper Tantrum

Obi-Wan _had_ warned Boba that this whole thing could quite probably ruin his life. So Boba figured he shouldn’t be surprised that he was currently employing evasive maneuvers with his jet pack in order to avoid being hit by the lightsaber an enraged Vader was throwing at him.

Apparently the Sith Lord really wanted the artifact that Boba had spent hours searching the creepy, mystic, maybe-alive Temple for and currently had tucked away in his belt pouch.

“Give it to me!” Vader’s voice was the same steady, near monotonous sound it always was, but Boba could literally _feel_ the man’s rage as it seemed to shake Boba’s bones.

“Not happening.” Boba flew behind a pillar grimacing as the lightsaber cut through it, and _really_ if Vader brought the building down on them Boba was going to be ticked. He was sending a steady stream of blaster bolts at Vader, but it seemed to be doing less than nothing to really stop Vader.

He considered one of his concussive grenades, but Vader was already doing his best to bring down the temple on top of them and Boba didn’t want to help him hurry the process up any.

“You don’t know the power you’re interfering with,” Vader pronounced sounding haughty and self-important. Boba reckoned that it was probably the result of 20 years of everyone being too terrified of the man to call him out on his ego.

“Seriously?” Boba asked, completely unimpressed. “You think I’d be interfering just for the fun of it?” He rolled his eyes. What kind of idiot would do that? “I’d just rather not let someone like _you_ have free reign over time. You’d just make a mess of it.”

There was the sensation of fingers around his throat, and he gasped desperate for air that had been cut from him with no warning. The phantom sensation disappeared a second later. Whether it was because Vader couldn’t focus enough to apply his standard ‘choke people into submission’ tactic or if Obi-Wan really _was_ protecting Boba, Boba didn’t know.

—he’d seen Vader choke people into submission while people were shooting at him, knew that Vader had _plenty_ of focus to spare when it came to killing people who annoyed him. Still, Boba liked not owing anyone anything, and he especially didn’t want to owe a dead man something.—

“And what do you know?” Vader asked.

“I know enough to know that Kenobi’s probably right that you’d make everything worse. Which is saying something, because this galaxy’s already pretty awful.”

Boba was pretty sure that he had the distinct honor of being one of the few people to witness Vader legitimately freeze with shock. “Obi-Wan Kenobi is _dead_. I killed him.”

“Sure.” Boba agreed, fighting back the way the rage iced his veins at the thought of Vader killing Obi-Wan. Instead he used Vader’s momentary shock as an opportunity to dart away from the pillar he’d been hiding behind to move closer towards the exit, using his flamethrower to distract Vader and make it more difficult for him to see _exactly_ where Boba was. He needed to get out of here and get Obi-Wan to show up again in all his dead, blue-glowing glory, because Boba had _tried_ to destroy the artifact but neither his blaster or the grenade had worked and then Vader had shown up before Boba could try anything else. “But it’s _Kenobi_ , did you really think death would stop him?”

“You’ve seen him.” It sounded like an accusation. It also sounded a little bit like Vader was _pouting_. But the very thought of the admittedly intimidating and incredibly powerful Sith Lord _pouting_ was so absurd that Boba dismissed it.

“Sure, he came to visit, asked me to stop you from tearing apart the galaxy.” Boba kept his voice casual, because it was clear this was something of a sore point for the Sith Lord, and Boba had no problems picking at people’s sore spots.

“You lie.” Vader had pushed back the shock and was steadily working himself back into the rage that Boba suspected was Vader’s default emotion. “Kenobi wouldn’t waste his time with some pathetic bounty hunter.”

Which, first, _rude_. Boba wasn’t pathetic, he was one of the best bounty hunters in the galaxy, thank you very much. And second. “Maybe Kenobi doesn’t consider it a waste of time to visit people he actually likes.”

Vader practically roared, and Boba barely managed to get out of the way of the pillar that Vader ripped out of the floor and chucked at him. “Kenobi would _never_. I would _know_.”

Boba furrowed his brows at that, because why would Vader know, unless… “Are you _jealous_? What, can’t handle the fact that Kenobi wasn’t as obsessed with you as you were with him?”

“I was _everything_ to Kenobi!” Vader was practically howling _,_ and _wow_ , someone had _issues_. ”Kenobi would—”

Boba had never asked what was up between Obi-Wan and Vader, even if the Emperor’s right hand’s obsession with Obi-Wan—beyond Vader’s standard obsession with ridding the galaxy of Jetii—had been something clear to anyone with eyes. But _this_ , this was ridiculous. Was Vader really so obsessed that he was upset that Obi-Wan apparently hadn’t shown up to say hello _after Vader had been the one to kill him_.

Boba knew he shouldn’t. He _knew_ that Vader was, without a doubt one of the most dangerous men in the galaxy; and that he regularly killed people for annoying him and Boba was already annoying him by denying him something he wanted it.

But he couldn’t help it.

He laughed.

And not a nice laugh. It was the sort of scoffing laugh that made Boba’s opinion on the matter clear.

Vader was _pathetic_.

Vader’s rage ripped through the room.

The exit was the first thing to go, the stone walls of the cavern crashing down, and Vader wasn’t done. Power rippled through the room.

In his belt pouch, the strange artifact Boba had stolen before Vader could get to it started glowing a somewhat ominous green.

Boba cursed.

That was bad.

A second wave of power threw Boba backward and into a wall. He heard his jet pack crack, the flame sputtering as Boba started falling toward the ground, trying desperately to get his jet pack to work again.

So bad.

Boba’s buir had died after his jet pack had been compromised. Boba had the feeling that in this, like in so many other things, Boba would be following in his buir’s footsteps.

The crash into the ground was painful, and Boba barely rolled in time to avoid the rock falling after him. He’d _known_ that Vader was going to bring the ceiling down on both of them.

_Di’kut_.

Vader, however, didn’t seem to be paying attention, striding toward where Boba lay, every step a show of menace and rage.

Boba tried to move but his back seized in pain, and he hissed.

So, _so_ bad.

Boba reached for the artifact, the grenade and his blaster hadn’t worked, but Vader was going to kill Boba, and Boba _wouldn’t_ let him get this artifact.

It wasn’t even really because he knew Vader meddling with time would be bad for the galaxy. Boba didn’t really care about much of the galaxy.

Boba had come because Obi-Wan had asked him to, because Obi-Wan had been—Boba was about to die, so he’d let himself admit it—the closest thing to family Boba had had, the past two decades.

Ever since Boba had been an angry teenager who had tried to kill Obi-Wan—just another person in the galaxy intent on causing Kenobi pain—and the di’kut had given him _tea_.

So no, Boba wasn’t doing it for the galaxy.

It had been for Obi-Wan. Because Obi-Wan trusted him, because Obi-Wan cared about the galaxy and Boba cared about Obi-Wan.

And now, of course, it was also a little bit because Boba was bitter and spiteful enough that he’d absolutely do whatever it took to ruin Vader’s day before he could finish killing Boba.

He just wasn’t sure how.

There was a faint hint of blue, right above him, a not-quite-hologram blue that Boba found was both his favorite and least favorite color, all at once.

Obi-Wan appeared, almost impossible to see with the dust falling, but clearly there, hovering in concern over Boba. Boba would recognize that guilt-laden, grief-stained face anywhere.

“Oh Boba. I’m so sorry.” The voice was so quiet that it should have been impossible for Boba to hear with the way the creepy temple was groaning and shuddering as it fell down around them. “I shouldn’t have asked this of you.”

“Can you destroy it?” Boba asked, because there was no point in recriminations and he didn’t really blame Obi-Wan anyways. Boba might not have been a good person, but Obi-Wan was, so _of course_ he’d needed to ask Boba to step in when he couldn’t do it himself. Sure, Boba kind of thought it was a major character flaw and was probably the reason Obi-Wan had gotten himself killed in the first place. But Boba was the sort of person who’d do stupid things because he got ridiculously attached to the few, _very few_ , people he managed to care about, and now that was going to get _him_ killed, so really they were both flawed. “Cause he’ll get it if you can’t, and then this’ll have been for nothing.”

In the background he could hear Vader, sounding angry and desperate and confused. “Kenobi! You’ve failed, in this like everything, your pathetic bounty hunter is _nothing_ —”

Boba blocked him out, focusing on Obi-Wan above him. Obi-Wan whose eyes were so pained. “I _can’t_.”

Boba grunted, because he _hurt_ and this was the stupidest reason and way to die.

“I can…” Obi-Wan hesitated. “I might be able to do _something_. To save you, to keep the artifact away from Vader, but I can’t ask that—”

“Then do it.”

“Boba…” Obi-Wan’s voice was quiet. “It will—”

“ _Do it._ ”

Obi-Wan’s eyes were pained, and really, Obi-Wan was the worst advertisement for dying there was, because death was not supposed to have exhaustion and pain.

Hopefully Obi-Wan just sucked at being dead and that wasn’t how it was for everyone else.

“You’re a good man, Boba Fett.” Obi-Wan’s hand seemed to sink through his armor and his chest was suddenly warm, the feeling spreading through the rest of him until it felt like he was being nestled in a soft warmth—it was Obi-Wan, Boba didn’t know how he knew it, but that warmth and love and care, cradling him so carefully, could only be Obi-Wan. “Good luck.”

And then Obi-Wan vanished, and Boba wanted to cry out, wanted to beg Obi-Wan to _not leave him_. But he was gone, replaced by the sight of Vader bearing down on him, red lightsaber lit and arcing down to take off Boba’s head.

Boba died. The exact same way his buir had.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Could that last sentence be interpreted to mean two separate people? Yes, yes it could. 
> 
> So, someone asked about a posting schedule for this story, at the time I said Tuesdays and Saturdays... In hindsight, I realize that was a lie. I *will* be posting every Tuesday and Saturday. BUT... it won't always be this story. If I've finished a chapter for another story, that will take the place of this story being posted. So for instance, if I finish the next chapter of Averting Galactic Destruction this weekend (which I'm *hoping* is the case... but not promising) then I'd post that chapter on Tuesday instead of the next one for this. 
> 
> So I do have a posting schedule, but it will not be for any one story. So, Tuesdays and Saturdays (barring life getting in the way) will feature *something* getting updated, but the what will be a surprise to all of us (probably me included...) And I will only be putting out one update at any given time... (well, there are a few exceptions to that... including today, but in general that's what's going on going forward.) I have no clue how long this update schedule will last going forward. I guess, technically, until this story finishes. So maybe it only lasts through June and all you get is this story because I don't finish anything else! But... also it might last through however long, and this story will be sporadically updated because I've had a bizarre but delightful bout of energy and writing enthusiasm and have gotten a lot of work done on other stories...
> 
> Anyways, I don't imagine many people care, but I did want to let the person I told Tuesdays and Saturdays know I'm sorry for accidentally lying to you, and also just let anyone who is interested in knowing what's up in on my current plans.
> 
> So that's that. I do genuinely hope you enjoyed this update!


	4. Lost and Found... but Lost

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> He was in the past.
> 
> And really, that’s what Boba got for doing favors for a dead man. This was all Obi-Wan’s fault. If Obi-Wan hadn’t gone and made Boba get all attached to him, then Boba wouldn’t have ended up doing stupid things that got him killed.
> 
> Definitely all Obi-Wan’s fault.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Somehow I didn't truly realize how awful the end of that last chapter was. I blame that on the fact that I knew exactly what was coming next. But I apologize for having, even for a second, temporarily killed Boba on you all.
> 
> Rest assured, he is alive and well.
> 
> As is... most everyone else. Because, you know, Time Travel. Nifty thing that. Even if it is giving Boba a minor crisis.

Boba woke up to the sound of rain and the sudden need to throw up.

He threw himself up from the surprisingly comfortable place where he’d been laying and stumbled toward the fresher.

Or that had been the plan.

Instead he managed to stumble over limbs that weren’t working the way Boba had expected them to and face planted into the ground.

_Ow_.

“Boba?” He heard steps moving towards him, and the voice was so painfully familiar—it had to be, it was his own voice—but there was a certain sort of inflection to this voice that Boba hadn’t heard in _years_. His ears had to be playing tricks on him.

They _had_ to be.

Boba pushed himself up, taking a long moment to stare at the absolutely _tiny_ hands that did the pushing.

Two different possibilities were stirring in his mind, he was either dead—and the whole, lightsaber coming for his head thing seemed to support that—or Obi-Wan had somehow managed to make the artifact take him back in time—he had tiny hands, _tiny hands_ _—_ and quite frankly he wasn’t sure which was worse.

A larger pair of hands moved into his vision checking over him and Boba stared at the hands, hands that were normal, adult sized hands in comparison to the tiny kid hands Boba suddenly had. He refused to look up to see the face associated with those hands. “Legs working all right there? You look like you’re going to throw up.” The voice, a mix of amused and concerned was going to break Boba into pieces.

“I might,” Boba admitted. His stomach was in rolling in a way that was really uncomfortable, that was for certain.

He took a deep breath and looked up.

His buir’s face looked back down at him, so similar to Boba’s own. The scars didn’t match though. “Are we dead?”

His buir’s eyes widened in surprise and concern, but he answered easily enough, voice soothing. “Not last I checked.”

Boba closed his eyes. _Kark_. This was definitely worse. He would absolutely have preferred to be dead. He was going to murder Kenobi. Except Obi-Wan was dead and couldn’t be murdered again. Probably.

He opened his eyes and stared at his not-dead buir.

Oh, well, that meant Obi-Wan probably wasn’t dead either, which meant that as soon as Boba found him, and Boba _would_ find him, Boba _could_ murder him. Delightful.

“I’m going to be sick,” he informed his buir.

At which point he couldn’t stop himself from throwing up all over both himself and his buir. Apparently time travel, because that was a _thing_ now, didn’t agree with his stomach.

—he didn’t cry, he _didn’t_. He was an adult who didn’t care if his buir’s arms were careful as they lifted him up and got him to the fresher to get him clean. He could take care of himself. He didn’t need anyone to comfort him, or protect him, or love him.—

His buir didn’t say anything about the vomit that now covered his shirt. Didn’t complain as Boba proceeded to latch onto his buir like the child he _wasn’t_. Just quietly soothed him in the way that _no one_ had ever been able to emulate, no matter how closely their genes might have matched his buir’s.

Not that there had been a lot of people who had ever tried. His buir had been the first and last person to ever truly love Boba.

_—Boba groaned in a mix of discomfort and pain. He wanted to shove his head under a pillow, but that would mean moving and he wasn’t sure if he could do that._

_He did finally manage to roll over in search of a pillow, only to blink when he faced a wall._

_He wasn’t on his ship. Why wasn’t he on his ship?_

_And if he wasn’t on his ship, where was he?_

_“You’re awake.”_

_Boba frowned, because he recognized that voice. But what the hells was Obi-Wan Kenobi doing here? The muffled groan that escaped him must have managed to convey his question._

_“You fell through my window two days ago,” Obi-Wan told him appearing just above him, handing him a pillow that Boba immediately used to cover his head and block out the light. “I’m not quite sure how you found me, but you were feverish.”_

_Boba narrowed his eyes from beneath the pillow, but his memories were a little fuzzy and he wasn’t sure how he’d found Obi-Wan either. But he didn’t want to think about the fact that he’d apparently searched out Obi-Wan while sick out of his mind._

_He’d have to lecture Obi-Wan on being better at hiding later, when he had the energy for it._

_A hand slid under the pillow and brushed against his forehead. Boba pressed into the hand, reveling at the contact, only realizing a second too late the weakness that exposed. “Your fever is down,” Obi-Wan muttered, sounding relieved. The hand on his head ran through his sweaty hair once, and Boba wanted to purr in content. “But you should get some more sleep.”_

_It was something of a moot point, because Boba was pretty sure he was already falling asleep. “Be here?”_

_“Of course, Boba.” Obi-Wan’s voice was so very quiet, or maybe Boba was just half asleep now. “I’ll still be here.”—_

“I’m sorry. I’m sorry.” Boba wasn’t sure what he was sorry for, but he couldn’t stop the apology from falling from his lips. “Don’t leave me.”

—he knew why he was sorry. He was sorry for failing his buir’s legacy. Sorry that he’d probably fail it again. Sorry that he’d failed Obi-Wan, but that Obi-Wan had still saved him, still given him this chance. Boba already knew he’d screw it up.

Obi-Wan had said Boba was a good man. Boba knew better. He was his buir’s son. He cared about who he cared about, and kark the rest of the galaxy. Republic, Empire, who cared. He just had to save his Buir.—

“It’s okay, Bob’ika.” His buir hushed him, and Boba melted into the hand running through his sweaty hair. “I’m right here. Let’s just get you laying down. Think you can handle some fluids?”

“Don’t go.” Boba demanded, and he didn’t care if he was petulant. His buir had been dead for over two decades and Boba was an adult who could take care of himself. But kark it if Boba was going to lose the opportunity for someone to _care_ for him.

He’d already lost that twice.

—and now he’d found it again, so why did he still feel like he’d just lost it all over again?—

“I’m just going to get you some water,” his buir said. “It’ll help get rid of the after taste.”

Now that his buir mentioned it, the taste of vomit on his tongue really was gross. “Water, then come back.”

His buir huffed a laugh, ruffling a hand through Boba’s hair as he straightened, but promised he would.

Boba curled into the bed—his buir’s bed—and curled some of the blankets around him.

He was in the past. Over two decades at least, if his buir was alive. He stared at his hands, they were small, yes, but _how_ small _?_ He wished he’d thought to look in a mirror so he could figure out how old he was.

It was going to be a pain having to re-familiarize himself with firing a blaster while he was this small again, not to mention waiting until he’d grown into his body enough for armor.

And really, that’s what Boba got for doing favors for a dead man. This was all Obi-Wan’s fault. If Obi-Wan hadn’t gone and made Boba get all attached to him, then Boba wouldn’t have ended up doing stupid things that got him killed.

Definitely all Obi-Wan’s fault.

His buir was back with a cup of water in hand that he let Boba swallow down, before taking the glass back and leaving it on the bedside table and slipping into the bed behind Boba. He’d apparently done more than just grab a cup of water because he was wearing a new shirt, one not covered with Boba’s throw up.

But since that meant Boba could curl into his buir’s chest, he decided not to complain about the extra delay. Instead he sighed in satisfaction at the way his buir started to run a hand through Boba’s hair, soft and soothing. He could feel the comforting rumble of his buir’s chest as he started humming, and it _hurt_ , because Boba remembered this tune. Worse, he remembered forgetting it. Remembered trying to hum it to himself in a paltry attempt at self-comfort only to realize he didn’t remember how it went.

He closed his eyes, pushing back the stupid tears that were trying to escape and listened. He’d remember it this time. He wouldn’t forget it again. He wouldn’t.

His buir continued for a while, and Boba listened to his father hum, felt the vibrations bury themselves deep in his chest.

When his father stopped humming, Boba made a pained noise, a wordless plea.

His father started humming again, the fingers in Boba’s hair never stopping their comforting caress.

So maybe this wasn’t worse than being dead. He didn’t think dead people got to be comforted lovingly by their buir. So maybe he wouldn’t have to murder Obi-Wan for this. Not that that was going to stop Boba from finding him. He had to keep his options open, after all.

“I’m gonna sleep, kay?” Boba told his buir, it might have been hours later Boba couldn’t be sure, but he could feel the exhaustion tugging at his limbs. “Don’t be gone when I wake up.”

His buir promised he wouldn’t.

—His buir had only lied to Boba once, and Boba still hadn’t forgiven him for it, because his buir had _died,_ had left him, and nothing in Boba’s life had gone right ever since—

The sound of rain was familiar, it had been the background sound of the first ten years of his life, and if it wasn’t quite _comforting_ it wasn’t the worst. And his buir was here, humming deep in his chest as he held Boba close.

Sleep should have come easily.

It didn’t.

His thoughts wouldn’t quiet, thoughts of the two and a half decades of his past—his future—sprawling out ahead of him, dark and foreboding and full of so much pain.

He had a second chance.

—there were so many others who had a second chance, but only if Boba gave it to them. But Boba wasn’t a good man. He was his buir’s son.—

Boba grabbed a hold of the hand not currently running through his hair and made sure that he had a good, solid grip on it, no way would his buir be able to escape without waking Boba up.

He’d figure out what he was going to do with the future tomorrow.

For now he was just going to sleep.

—his buir was still there when he woke up. Boba wasn’t going to lose him again, he’d make sure of it.—


	5. Ten Years and No Time to Grow

He was ten.

_TEN._

He wished it was wrong, but there was a small scar at his hairline that he’d gotten shortly after his life day that made it impossible to ignore.

Ten was when Obi-Wan—but not _his_ Obi-Wan, just Kenobi—had first shown up. Ten was when his buir had _died_. Ten was when the war had started.

Ten was when his world had fallen apart.

Being ten meant that he had almost no time to adjust, no time to plan. He’d almost prefer nine, because then he could get used to everything again. It was going to take him forever to re-adjust to trying to shoot a blaster with such tiny hands and now he wasn’t sure if he had that time.

He would do it anyways, of course, because he was Boba Fett and something like time-travel and a stupidly-average-height-for-his-age body wasn’t going to stop him.

Boba scowled at himself in the mirror, annoyed to find that the expression looked almost adorable instead of terrifying. At best he would call the look petulant, which was a far cry from terrifying, and really wasn’t what he was going for.

This seemed grossly unfair. He’d put years of effort into building a reputation of being terrifying—of _making_ himself terrifying—and now he couldn’t even produce a proper scowl.

Sure, maybe most people hadn’t _seen_ his scowls—armor hid those sort of details—but it was the principle of the thing.

Plus, he actually _needed_ a good scowl now, since he couldn’t count on armor because he didn’t have any armor that _fit_.

—it occurred to him, a mix of joy and hope, that this time maybe his buir would be around to help him get his armor. His buir had always said that when Boba was old enough, when he was thirteen, that they’d get him real armor. Boba wouldn’t have to do it alone, trying to mimic his buir as well he could.—

But for now, he was ten and armor-less.

This was the worst. Literally the _worst_.

A faint clatter from the kitchen drew him from his thoughts and he stuck his head out the fresher to see that his buir was busy making breakfast.

Something not-quite painful caught tight and fast in his chest at the sight.

So maybe it wasn’t the worst.

His buir was _alive_. And it was Boba’s job to make sure he stayed that way. The whole thing left him with a mix of hope and fear.

He wouldn’t fail.

Couldn’t.

He retreated back into the fresher, sending his reflection another barely-acceptable glare as he finished getting ready for the day.

He wandered back into the rooms, trying to keep his actions casual—he could feel his buir’s eyes on him concerned and confused—as he tried to remember where all of the weapons were hidden.

Just in case.

“Come get breakfast, Boba.”

Boba stopped his hopefully-casual perusal of the room and moved toward the kitchen. His buir smiled at him, and Boba felt his heart ache with happiness and he hoped his smile wasn’t as ridiculously large as it felt.

“What did you make?”

“Just some Andon oats with fruit. Nothing special.”

His buir wasn’t often wrong, though Boba could recognize that that might possibly be hero-worship and 20 years of distance talking, but in this he was. Any breakfast made for him by his buir was undoubtedly special.

He took a bite of the mix, reveling in the mix of not-quite-sweet and perfectly tart. “It’s good.” He scarfed down another three bites. “Vor’e buir.”

His buir blinked at him, but then smiled. “You’re more than welcome, Boba.”

Boba looked down again, that same warm feeling in his chest. His buir was still moving around the kitchen, cleaning up while he started eating, putting the food away.

Boba watched from the corner of his eye, and his thoughts once again shifted to the matter at hand.

Time travel. Some part of him was still having a hard time believing it.

The bright side was that saving his buir was, in theory, going to be pretty simple. Even with He just had to make sure his buir didn’t enter the arena on Geonosis. Sure, it probably wouldn’t be _that_ simple. But, fortunately, his buir actually had self-preservation instincts and Boba was pretty sure that those would kick in.

And for good measure he’d keep his buir _far_ away from Windu, and preferably the entire war, just in general. They were _definitely_ staying away from Dooku.

Except… there was one small problem with that.

Boba sighed to himself.

Obi-Wan was involved in the war.

Or would be.

Whichever.

He’d survived it, too. At least he had the first time around.

Really, Obi-Wan didn’t need Boba’s help.

He’d be fine.

So Boba could just tell that stupid, guilty part of himself that felt desperate to save Obi-Wan Kenobi to kark it.

Obi-Wan Kenobi would be _fine_.

He’d just lose everything he cared for. He’d be hunted constantly. He’d fake smiles and force laughs and help literally everyone else, all while pretending he needed no help himself. He’d go on and on, trying to hide the fact that he’d been shattered into pieces.

Fine. Just fine.

—he pictured Obi-Wan—good, kind, stupid, idiotic, tea-sharing, smile-giving, foolish, amazing, loving, di’kut Obi-Wan—as the Empire had tried to make him. Forced to hide in the darkest, most depressing bits of the galaxy. Sacrificing bits and pieces of himself to save chipped soldiers, hurting rebels, lost souls—a teenage Boba. Obi-Wan who had become nothing more than a whisper of a bygone age. Obi-Wan who had been kind when kindness was a luxury, and Obi-Wan’s life had no place for luxuries.—

But this wasn’t _his_ Obi-Wan anyways. His Obi-Wan… his Obi-Wan was dead.

His breakfast suddenly seemed to catch in his throat and for some strange reason his eyes burned.

A hand fell gently on his shoulder. “Everything all right, Boba?”

Boba nodded, trying to force his face into something neutral before he looked up at his buir. “Yes. Of course.”

His buir’s brow furrowed, but he didn’t say anything. He was waiting, Boba was sure, for Boba to be ready to talk. Boba wasn’t sure if he was grateful for that or not.

He _wanted_ to talk to his buir, wanted to tell him everything. For the past two decades he’d often wondered what his buir would do in any given situation. Wondered if his buir would be proud of him. And now he could _actually_ ask his buir… but for some reason he found that he _couldn’t_.

His buir would understand what Boba had gone through. His buir had lost his parents, and then he’d lost Jaster. His buir would understand being alone.

He was less sure his buir would understand Obi-Wan and the complicated feelings Boba had for him.

He was the closest thing to family that Boba had had in twenty years.

Boba _loved_ him, the same way he loved his buir. How could he possibly explain _that_ to his buir?

And that wasn’t even touching on the whole ‘jetii’ thing. His buir had never liked the jetii, and Boba had no clue how he was going to fix that.

“I’ve got a bounty, I’ll need to take off tomorrow.” His buir’s voice was calm. “I was going to have you stay behind…” his buir trailed off. “But I’ve been reconsidering whether that’s the best way to go about it.”

Boba frowned, trying to remember if he’d joined his buir on any missions around this time. He couldn’t think of any. “Where? Who? What?”

“Coruscant. A senator. Intermediary role.”

Boba froze. Coruscant as an intermediary.

He remembered Coruscant. Well he didn’t _remember_ it, he hadn’t joined his buir on that mission. But he remembered his buir going on it.

It was the last mission.

“Oh.”

He needed to be there to watch his buir’s back. Needed to be there to make sure that nothing went wrong. And maybe… maybe he’d be able to see Obi-Wan. Obi-Wan was probably on Coruscant.

No. He couldn’t. He couldn’t go.

Because Obi-Wan would follow his buir here. And Boba needed to be ready for him. Needed to—

Wait. No. He was getting ahead of himself. He hadn’t even decided for sure whether he was going to _save_ Obi-Wan. That would be… that would be almost impossible.

Except whether he’d fully realized it or not, Boba had already made his decision. The only decision he _could_ make.

Because it was Obi-Wan.

Boba _couldn’t_. Just… he couldn’t abandon Obi-Wan to the fate the galaxy had in store for him. Boba didn’t have it in him to let someone he loved go through _that_.

It was really Boba’s own fault. He should have known better than to adopt such a self-sacrificing di’kut.

Saving his buir was easy. Relatively. It was a one-time situation, and once they got past that, his buir had self-preservation instincts that Boba could count on.

Obi-Wan was _not_ easy to save. For one, he was going to be heavily engaged in a civil war and was a victim of a huge conspiracy that had enslaved the galaxy and included the genocide of Obi-Wan’s entire people.

Beyond that, however, Boba couldn’t trust in Obi-Wan’s self-preservation instincts, because as far as Boba was aware—and he had nearly two decades of personal experience to back him up on the matter—Obi-Wan didn’t _have_ any self preservation to speak of.

“Boba?”

Boba jerked up, a little surprised. “What?”

His buir was giving him that concerned look again. “Did you want to join me on my hunt?”

Right, his buir had invited him along. He felt a flare of joy, swallowed immediately by frustration. Because there was nothing he wanted more… but at the moment he _couldn’t_.

Boba opened his mouth, before shutting it again. He ran several rough calculations through his mind, trying to determine the best course of action. He’d thought he had more time to think, to plan. But he clearly didn’t.

“No. I… uh, think I’ll stay behind.”

His buir looked even more concerned at that, and Boba knew why. He’d _never_ turned down an opportunity to join his buir on a hunt before this.

“I just, uh, still don’t feel good. Still kind of sick.” He actually was feeling much better. “I wouldn’t want you to be distracted while you’re hunting.”

His buir pursed his lips. “Boba. You wouldn’t be a—”

“But while you’re gone, you need to buy tea.” The words stopped whatever his buir was about to say. “The best you can find.”

“Tea?”

“Yes.” Obi-Wan didn’t know Boba, not yet, at least. But that was fine, because Boba knew Obi-Wan. Obi-Wan, any Obi-Wan, was _Obi-Wan_ ; he was, in some ways, very predictable.

And of everything he knew about Obi-Wan, there were three things that were particularly applicable for the current moment.

Obi-Wan loved tea, had a weakness for kids—turned out his ten-year old tendency towards looking adorable might come in handy—and he seemed completely unable to stay away from danger, even when he _really_ should.

He eyed his buir at that thought. His buir was one of the most dangerous people Boba knew. Boba _had_ always wondered how hs buir and Obi-Wan would get along.

Obi-Wan was charming, he’d charmed Boba, he’d probably charm his buir easily enough. His buir charming Obi-Wan might be harder, but Boba was just going to have to do his best to stack the cards in his buir’s favor.

“Tea.” He paused a moment, because if things worked out the way he wanted he’d need more than just tea. “And ingredients. I want better ingredients.”

His buir tilted his head in question. “For?”

“For dinner,” Boba answered, pretending not to understand what his buir had really been asking. “And maybe for breakfast too.” He frowned. Did Obi-Wan even _eat_ breakfast? Or did he just subsist on tea?

It didn’t matter, he’d have his buir get ingredients for both, just to be on the safe side. Plus, Obi-Wan _should_ be eating more than he did. Boba had been telling him that since the beginning, this time he’d just get a sooner start at it.

“Is there a reason I need to buy tea and better ingredients?” his buir asked, and Boba knew that his buir was worried, and this wasn’t helping. He had been watching Boba with concerned eyes that noticed _everything_ , even if he didn’t understand the differences he saw.

Boba shrugged. “It’s a surprise.” He absolutely was not going to explain that Kenobi would follow his buir back from Coruscant and that Boba was going to need the tea because Obi-Wan was, in Boba’s opinion, a little like a tooka who could only be convinced to stay in one place with the right sort of bribe.

Tea, as tasteless and awful as Boba found it, was the perfect sort of bribe to get Obi-Wan to stay in one place.

Boba and his buir would hopefully be enough to keep him around.

“Remember, the _best_ tea you can find,” Boba instructed his buir. It had to be the best tea if it was going to keep Obi-Wan still long enough for Boba to convince him to _stay._

Somehow.

His buir looked mildly amused. “All right. I’ll buy some tea.”

Boba gave him the best, no-nonsense look he could manage with his too-young face. “The best—”

His buir held up two hands as though in submission, and there was a real smile on his face. “Yes, I’ll get the best tea I can find.”

Boba breathed out a sigh of relief, though his mind was still whirling. If his buir left tomorrow, it was a ten-day trip to Coruscant from here. Though his buir was good at cutting the distance, so it probably wouldn’t take him quite that long.

Still, travel time plus the actual hunt would still give him about twenty days. Twenty days for Boba to find all of the information that he needed so that by the time his buir and Obi-Wan were both on Kamino, Boba would have a full plan and the information he needed to back it up.

Twenty days to figure it all out.

Twenty days until his family, both parts of it, were together. Safe and alive.

Boba just had to figure out a way to keep them that way.

But he was Boba Fett, he’d been one of the most fearsome bounty hunters of his time. He no longer had his reputation, but that just meant that the galaxy didn’t know to watch out for him.

He could handle this.

—he had no clue what he was doing. Absolutely no clue. But all of his best plans started that way.—


	6. Last-Minute Adjustments

His buir was back, so Boba had known that Obi-Wan would be here soon.

That didn’t mean he’d actually planned on being there the moment Obi-Wan stepped through the door, soaking wet. He’d just been wandering.

—Boba wasn’t sure when he’d started being able to find Obi-Wan instinctively; it was something he’d purposefully not thought about in the _before_ , and he wasn’t about to start thinking about now—

He stared for a moment, feeling a little dazed as Taun We introduced herself to Obi-Wan, declaring that he’d been expected, much to Obi-Wan’s apparent confusion.

He stepped forward, leaving the adjacent hallway from where he’d been watching the moment, interrupting Taun We with absolutely no shame. “Who are you?”

Obi-Wan turned toward him, and the last bit of hope Boba hadn’t even realized he was holding on to shattered at the lack of recognition in Obi-Wan’s eyes.

—his Obi-Wan was _dead_ , and it _hurt_.—

Obi-Wan smiled at him though, and his eyes were soft as they took Boba in. “My name is Obi-Wan Kenobi.” Boba caught him glancing at Taun We from the corner of his eyes. “A representative of the Jedi Order sent to…”

“We have a meeting for you with Prime Minister Lama Su to discuss the progress of the project.”

Obi-Wan, Boba noted with a little bit of pride, was hiding his confusion admirably well. But Boba knew him far too well to fall for it.

Obi-Wan was so lost.

Boba wondered if it meant that Obi-Wan was going to be _extra_ grateful for the answers that Boba would have for him.

“You’re wet.” He didn’t mean for a hint of a scold to slip into his voice, though he _did_ mean the glare he sent at Taun We. He already knew Obi-Wan was something of a lost cause in cases like this, but where was _her_ common sense! Rain on Kamino could soak a person to the bone within seconds. Obi-Wan might get sick of she just forced him to stay in his soaking wet clothes, and Obi-Wan was the absolute worst when he was sick. Mostly because he refused to acknowledge that he was capable of being sick. And the man was wearing _layers_ , which meant it would take extra long to get dry. “Shouldn’t you get dry before you meet with the Prime Minister?”

Obi-Wan sent him a bemused smile. Taun We just seemed confused about why that should be a concern. “I’m quite fine…” he tilted his head in question.

“Boba.”

“I’m quite fine, Boba. Thank you for your concern.”

Boba scowled a little, but didn’t say anything more, instead he just watched as Obi-Wan followed Taun We to his meeting.

He waited until they were out of sight before turning and running back to his and his buir’s small apartment, mind racing.

He’d forgotten about the rain. Which really, it was _always_ raining, how could he have forgotten that? Still, he already knew exactly what he wanted to do about it. Honestly he was ashamed he hadn’t thought about it before, but it suddenly occurred to him that this was the perfect opportunity.

“Buir?”

“In here, Boba.”

Boba followed his buir’s voice to see him frowning over a datapad at the kitchen counter. “What are you doing?”

“Trying to decide who to send after the Senator next for the job.” His buir muttered something derisive under his breath, but Boba didn’t ask, mind already focused on the more important matter at hand.

“Do you think we could have Tiingilar for dinner tonight?”

His buir froze for a moment, before he placed his datapad down and turned his full attention to Boba. “I thought you said Tiingilar was too spicy and you hated it”

Well, Boba had been seven and a brat who hadn’t realized the importance of what his buir was trying to share with him; he’d regretted his little tantrum for years—decades—after.

“I want to try again.”

His buir smiled at him, eyes lighting up a little bit. “Of course we can have Tiingliar. The ingredient list you sent me had everything we’d need for it.” He glanced at the time. “Might have to get started on that now.”

 _Perfect_.

“Also, I’m stealing some of your clothes.”

His buir’s smile shifted into confusion. “Wait, what?”

Boba just grinned at him, before darting into his buir’s room and carefully choosing a soft shirt, pants, and a belt.

Nice and dry.

Boba couldn’t hide the fact that Obi-Wan was a Jedi. He had no intention of it, really. But he could maybe make it so it wasn’t screaming in his buir’s face.

His buir was in the doorway. “Boba, what’s going on?”

Boba shook his head, not answering. “Tiingilar for dinner? Oh, and tea.” He gave his buir a serious look. “Do you know how to make tea?”

His buir blinked, and Boba almost felt bad about how his buir was trying so hard not to push at Boba, and ten-year-old Boba would have told his buir instantly, but Boba as he was now was only making things harder and more confusing. “Boil some water, stick the leaves in. I don’t think it’s that hard.”

Boba gave his buir his best disappointed look, deciding to ignore that he’d said something similar to Obi-Wan before the man had decided to teach him how to _properly_ make tea, because apparently it was ‘an important life skill’. “Never mind, don’t touch the tea.”

“All right.” His buir was quiet for a moment, Boba could _feel_ his concern and his worry and his absolute _love_. “Boba, I won’t push if you’re not ready. But are you all right?”

Boba froze a little, feeling a little like he might choke on how much his buir loved him. “I will be. I just have to…” He bit his lips. “I’ve got a plan. Okay buir? It’s going to be good. Everything’s going to be good.”

His buir still looked worried, but he nodded. “What are the clothes for?”

Boba shook his head, pushing at his buir—a little annoyed to realize he probably wouldn’t have been able to make his buir move without his buir letting him, stupid ten-year-old body—back into the main living areas, noting the open closet holding his buir’s armor and closing it as he passed. “Dinner, buir! Make dinner!”

Boba darted for the door before his buir could say or do anything more.

Boba smiled, letting his feet take him instinctively to where Obi-Wan was.

—he _still_ wasn’t thinking about how easy it was to find him.—

He got there right as Obi-Wan, Taun We, and Lama Su were exiting a meeting room, sliding to a halt right in front of Obi-Wan and forcing him to stop walking.

“I brought you dry clothes.”

Obi-Wan blinked at him. “That’s not necessary. But thank you, Boba.”

Boba scowled up at him. “It _is_ necessary. You could get _sick_.” He poked at Obi-Wan’s cloak and tunic. “You’re still _wet_.”

“I’m—”

“Soaked to the bone,” Boba supplied, feeling a little victorious at the way Obi-Wan seemed both confused, the tiniest bit annoyed, and a little charmed.

Obi-Wan had been driving Boba insane since forever, and it was clearly pay-back to be able to do the same.

Boba wasn’t sure who would win in a _genuine_ battle of wills, both he and Obi-Wan were stubborn, but Obi-Wan probably did genuinely want to get out of his soaked clothes, but would be far too polite to ever say as much.

Boba shoved his buir’s clothes at Obi-Wan, ignoring the fact that both Taun We and Lama Su were still watching the by-play, clearly confused.

He didn’t like either of them and felt not at all bad about delaying them and causing them annoyance.

Obi-Wan reluctantly accepted the clothes and Taun We led them to a room where Obi-Wan could get changed.

Boba had seen Obi-Wan out of his Jedi clothes before; in fact, Boba had seen Obi-Wan _out_ of Jedi-like clothing more than he’d ever seen Obi-Wan in them.

Obi-Wan had been in hiding, after all, though Obi-Wan had always reverted to the Jedi Clothes when he was purposefully trying to catch the Empire’s attention.

Which had happened far more often than it should.

Because Obi-Wan was a di’kut.

Boba grabbed the wet clothes when Obi-Wan came back out, looking far more like a normal person. “I can get these dry!”

Obi-Wan allowed it to happen, though he still looked vaguely bemused.

Boba waited until Obi-Wan and the two Kaminoans were out of sight before taking the clothes and dumping them in a trash receptacle. He _could_ get them dry, but that didn’t mean he wanted to. He certainly didn’t want to risk Obi-Wan trying to change back into those clothes too early.

The moment he’d rid himself of the stupid clothes he made his back to where Obi-Wan was following Lama Su and Taun We around, showing him the clones.

Boba felt his good humor slip away, as he remembered that he had to enact the _actual_ plan, and not the spontaneous one he’d just finished.

“Magnificent, aren’t they?” Lama Su was saying by the time Boba had once again caught up, gesturing grandly to where some of the clones were eating below.

Obi-Wan’s face was closed off and neutral as he nodded.

Lama Su gave Boba a strange look at seeing him once again present, but he ignored Boba, seeing only the ‘progenitor’s clone’ and dismissing him. Boba was sure he assumed his buir had him on some mission and was unwilling to do something that would cross his buir. Boba took a lot of satisfaction over the way all of the Kaminoans were a little terrified of his buir. Lama Su continued regaling Obi-Wan about the clones. “We modified their genetic structure to make them less independent than the original host. As a result they are totally obedient, taking any order without question.”

Boba could see Obi-Wan’s eyes tighten at the words, could sense his deep discomfort with the whole situation.

“Who was the original host?”

“A bounty hunter called Jango Fett. We felt a Jedi would be the perfect choice, but Sifo-Dyas handpicked Jango Fett himself.”

A small quirk of his eyebrow was the only sign of Obi-Wan’s true thoughts on the matter. “Where is this bounty hunter now?”

“Oh, we keep him here. After a few hundred thousand clones, the genetic pattern starts to fade, so we take a fresh supply. He lives here, but he’s free to come and go as he pleases. Apart from his pay, which is considerable, Fett demanded only one thing—an unaltered clone for himself. Curious, isn’t it?”

Boba felt his stomach clench, he hated the way the Kaminoans talked about him, they saw him as little better than the other clones. Couldn’t _conceive_ of the idea that Jango truly loved him as a son, rather than some bit of product he’d paid for.

“Me,” Boba inserted, and Obi-Wan’s eyes were suddenly on him, sharp and discerning. Without his permission Boba’s shoulders straightened, trying desperately to look more professional. “He wanted a son.”

Obi-Wan seemed to take that in. “I don’t suppose your father would be willing to meet with me?”

Boba let himself smile a little. “Sure.” He paused. “I could introduce you to a couple of the clones as well, if you’d like? Before then.” Plus, he needed to give his buir time to make dinner.

Lama Su and Taun We seemed displeased with that. “Boba, perhaps…”

“That would be excellent.” Obi-Wan sent the two Kaminoans a firm smile. “I would like to meet some of the…” his smile went almost plastoid. “Product.”

Boba wondered if it had hurt some part of Obi-Wan’s soul to refer to the clones as such, but it was clearly the right thing to say, the Kaminoans only understood business, and _of course_ it made sense for Obi-Wan to see the product.

Boba felt his own heart twinge angrily, he hated the Kaminoans.

“Follow me.” He caught Obi-Wan’s hand, pulling him along behind him. This was his least favorite part part of his plan, as it had nothing to do with saving Obi-Wan or his buir.

Boba’s feelings about the other clones were… complicated.

Growing up he’d… well, he hadn’t _despised_ them, he hadn’t thought highly enough of them to do even that. But he’d thought himself better. He was the one his buir had chosen—or that fate had chosen to give to his buir—he was _special_. Real, in the way that others weren’t.

Then after he’d lost his buir… then he’d hated them. Because they were still there and his buir was gone, and they were nothing but pathetic copies.

— _he’d_ felt like nothing more than a pathetic copy that could never live up to his buir’s legacy.—

And then… after.

He’d met Obi-Wan and Obi-Wan had _loved_ them. Boba hadn’t been able to comprehend it at first. But seeing them as _Obi-Wan_ saw them was… well, Boba couldn’t go back to hating them. Especially after helping Obi-Wan save so many of them. He… didn’t love them. But he… respected them. He was also almost shamefully jealous of them. Jealous of their easy place in Obi-Wan’s heart even after they’d turned on him.

But he hadn’t been jealous of any of them as much as he was jealous of the famed Commander Cody, who, if you heard Obi-Wan speak of him, was one of the most remarkable people to ever exist in the galaxy.

Boba could acknowledge, even if only to himself, that he hated the thought of being in competition with _anyone_ for the affection of someone he cared for. He could acknowledge that he was a little bit of a brat in that.

He loathed the thought of _losing_ that competition.

And he’d always feared in a way he’d never let himself think about, that if Obi-Wan was faced with both Boba and Cody that he’d choose Cody.

Which is why he didn’t know why he was about to introduce Obi-Wan to Cody again.

It wouldn’t be the same. If Boba’s plan worked out, then Obi-Wan would never end up involved in the war and he’d never end up with Commander Cody as his second.

There would be no competition whatsoever, and Boba would have Obi-Wan and his affection all to himself.

But maybe Boba was weak to Obi-Wan’s happiness, and this Obi-Wan wasn’t _his_ Obi-Wan… but his Obi-Wan had never gotten closure. Introducing Obi-Wan and Cody wouldn’t give Obi-Wan closure, of course…

He just…

It didn’t matter, his brain didn’t make sense at the best of times, and the whole time-travel thing had made it so his brain made even less sense than before.

“Are you taking me somewhere specific?” Obi-Wan asked, after Boba had pulled him past two rooms full of clones.

Boba hesitated. “Yes.”

“May I ask why?”

Boba glanced back at Obi-Wan to see that he was watching Boba with muted wariness, but mostly curiosity.

“I just think you should meet one of the best.”

Obi-Wan’s eyebrow quirked in an expression Boba was unfortunately familiar with. It was Obi-Wan’s ‘I see straight through you, but I’ll humor you for now’ look.

Boba thought he should feel offended.

“I trust your judgment, then.”

Boba’s heart was going to shatter into a thousand-million pieces.

Boba had spent part of the past few weeks while his buir had been gone watching the clones, so he knew where Cody’s schedule often had him during this time.

He pulled Obi-Wan into one of the training rooms where two groups of the CC clones were running advanced drills, the Kaminoan watching the drills frowned at their entrance before gracefully gliding over to them.

Boba stepped forward to address the long-neck. “This is Jedi Knight Obi-Wan Kenobi. Lama Su asked me to bring him down to meet some of the future Commanders.”

The Kaminoan nodded, before calling a cease to the drills.

“CC’s, meet one of your Generals.”

Obi-Wan stiffened at that and Boba immediately latched onto his wrist again, sending him a warning look that Obi-Wan didn’t notice as he stepped forward. “It’s a pleasure to meet you all.”

The CC’s fell into parade rest quickly, all turned to face them, almost expressionless as they took in Obi-Wan.

Boba felt a mix of regretful and triumphant that Obi-Wan was forced to meet them while wearing his buir’s clothes. He was sure Obi-Wan was probably unhappy with it—that was if he’d bothered to think about his appearance, which was doubtful.

Obi-Wan glanced at the Kaminoan. “I don’t suppose I could have a moment to speak with them?”

The Kaminoan frowned, likely annoyed at the training session being interrupted, but they nodded and turned to leave.

Obi-Wan gently shook Boba’s hand loose, giving Boba a gentle smile before stepping forward.

Boba backed up and took a place against the wall so Obi-Wan could have his privacy, fighting against the part of him that wanted desperately to listen in to Obi-Wan’s conversations.

He watched carefully as Obi-Wan spoke with each of them individually, tensing a little when he got to Cody. It felt like he seemed to talk to Cody for far longer than he’d talked to any of the others, but Boba wasn’t sure if that was true or just Boba’s minor paranoia.

The moment Obi-Wan had spoken to the last of the CC’s, Boba jumped forward again, grasping onto Obi-Wan’s wrist and pulling him backwards. He didn’t think he’d ever touched Obi-Wan quiet this much in the past. But he’d been less worried then about Obi-Wan disappearing on him.

That and he’d shared Obi-Wan enough for the day and he just wanted to pull Obi-Wan back to the apartment he shared with his buir.

“You said you wanted to meet my buir.”

Obi-Wan nodded. “Right, yes. I did.” He gave the clones all a solemn nod. “Thank you for taking time to speak with me.”

“Of course, sir.”

Boba didn’t look at the clones, those complicated emotions made him feel conflicted and he preferred to ignore all those emotions.

At least he didn’t need to feel guilty about their fates.

He had to save Obi-Wan, and luckily for them, the best way to save Obi-Wan was to stop the war, which would save them too.

Boba kept his grip tight around Obi-Wan wrist as he started guiding him back to the apartment.

Obi-Wan was quiet, allowing himself to be tugged along, brow furrowed in deep contemplation.

Boba didn’t say anything, he had as much of the data as he could get a hold of gathered. But he… well, he wanted to wait to give that to Obi-Wan until after Obi-Wan had gotten to know his buir a little better.

Speaking of… he took a deep breath as they reached the apartment, turning back to Obi-Wan. “Ready?”

Obi-Wan glanced down at him, and the furrow in his brow eased. “I am.” He paused. “You’re anxious. I have no intention of hurting your buir.”

Boba couldn’t help but laugh, mentally noting Obi-Wan’s use of Mando’a in a copy of Boba’s own use of the title. “That’s not what I’m worried about.”

He didn’t bother trying to explain what he was worried about. It wouldn’t make sense anyways.

He opened the door, pulling Obi-Wan after him. “Buir, I’m back. I brought a guest.”

Obi-Wan let out a strange sound, and his voice sounded a mix of awed and lustful—Boba had _never_ heard that tone from Obi-Wan before and wasn’t sure he ever wanted to hear it again. “Oh, is that Tiingilar?”

His buir’s voice answered before Boba could. “It is. And you are?”

Boba sent an anxious glance at his buir who was standing in the kitchen entryway, his eyes focused sharp and intense on Obi-Wan. Boba didn’t miss the way his buir’s eyes took in all of Obi-Wan, the gaze a little more lingering than would normally be appropriate.

Boba counted it as a success. Getting Obi-Wan out of his stuffy Jedi robes had absolutely been the right last-minute adjustment to the plan.

Obi-Wan didn’t answer immediately, meeting his buir’s eyes. “Obi-Wan Kenobi.” He paused, and Boba was certain he knew just what it meant when he finished his introduction. “Jedi Knight.”

His buir’s jaw clenched slightly, but he didn’t seem surprised. But then, Boba would have been more surprised if he _had_ been. His buir didn’t like being caught by surprised, and as much as Boba had looked, he didn’t think he’d found all of his buir’s security measures.

“Buir,” Boba interrupted. “Can Obi-Wan stay for dinner?”

His buir shifted his gaze to Boba and there was something probing about the look he gave Boba, as though he was trying to see through him.

Boba ached a little, because he didn’t want his buir to look at him that way. But after dinner he’d give all of the information and everything would make sense… or more sense at least. Boba still hadn’t quite been able to decide whether he was going to give the _full_ truth.

Obi-Wan spoke up quickly, voice smooth. “I would hate to impose. I merely had a few questions for you, if I could take just a moment of your time.”

“It’s not an imposition,” Boba snapped and both his buir and Obi-Wan sent him concerned looks.

His buir glanced between the two of them for a moment before turning his attention back to Obi-Wan. “You know Tiingilar.”

Obi-Wan tilted his head a little in acknowledgment. “I’m familiar with it.” He smiled a little. “Nearly burned away my sense of smell the first time I ate it. I believe it was love at first bite though.”

His buir sort of almost smiled, which was far more than Boba had expected at this point. “Boba would like you to stay for dinner, you’re more than welcome to do so.” His buir paused. “After that we can see about your questions.”

Boba sent his buir his brightest smile, turning to Obi-Wan with pleading eyes.

Obi-Wan hesitated. “I would be honored.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Tiingilar is a Mandalorian stew that is incredibly spicy, and the scent by itself can supposedly burn an individual's nose hairs... which, yeah intense.
> 
> KAY... So, I'm going to be making some changes to the upcoming chapters, I realized that I needed to hit a specific point in both Boba's and Obi-Wan's emotional storyline that's important to me, and that as I've gotten closer to that point realized I needed to slip in. So, if you're wondering why it no longer says 11 chapters, it's because the number of chapters is in flux. It shouldn't make much of a difference, I don't think the adjustments will add anymore than one maybe two chapters, but just so you know. I still fully intend to keep to my update schedule, though!


	7. The Art of Dinner Conversations

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So, I was asking on Tumblr which two stories I should focus on finishing first, and between people's votes and my own burst of both inspiration and motivation, I've decided that this will be one of the two. It has mutated quite a bit since the first time it was written 'completely' but it's still probably about half way done and I will work very hard to keep it in line with the initial chapters tonally and what not.
> 
> So... seven months after the last post... here you go!

Boba’s ten-year-old body was the _worst_. His nose was running, his mouth was burning, and he was pretty sure there were actual tears trailing down his cheeks.

“Smaller bites and some milk will help,” Obi-Wan offered, his eyes were full of compassion even though Boba just _knew_ that Obi-Wan was hiding his amusement. Why did Boba even like him, anyways?

His buir was watching him with far more concerned eyes—the faint memories of the last, the _only_ , time his buir had made him tiingilar and the young, naive boy Boba had been then throwing a fit, were like a blaring sign in his head—Boba gave him the best approximation of a smile he could through the absolute _burn_. “It’s good!” And it _was_ , the level of spice just took a lot of adjustment—he was pretty sure his buir had actually made it milder, just for him—and he’d forgotten in his excitement that his ten-year-old body hadn’t yet learned to handle the spice of tiingilar and he had taken far too large a bite. “Just, uh, really spicy.”

At least somewhat reassured, his buir smiled, and Boba noted that behind that concern his buir was _also_ amused. Which, really, that was just _rude_.

And sure, fine, if it had happened to someone else, Boba would absolutely find it hilarious, and probably wouldn’t be restraining himself to quiet, hidden amusement the way Obi-Wan and his buir were.

He caught his buir and Obi-Wan share an amused grin, before his buir remembered that Obi-Wan was a Jetii and his face adopted a pointedly neutral state that was the polite equivalent of a scowl.

Boba would be proud of his buir’s restraint if he didn’t need his buir to be doing so much better.

The dinner continued, mostly quiet and tense. Though both his buir and Obi-Wan were _clearly_ enjoying the meal, even if not each other’s presence.

Boba wondered if he should expound on just how good his buir was in the kitchen. That was an appealing trait in a partner right? It would make Obi-Wan interested? He’d never been particularly interested in having a partner of his own, so he wasn’t actually sure what people looked for.

Except, maybe that would be weird? Interpersonal relationships weren’t exactly his forte. He hadn’t exactly done a great deal of socializing with people during his life. People were either family, or as good as in the case of Obi-Wan; fellow bounty hunters, and he knew better than to let that ever get personal; clients, which he didn’t talk to much anyways; or people he didn’t care about or for, so why would he talk to them.

He frowned down at his own stew, taking smaller bites, with sips of milk in between. It was hard to enjoy the meal though, with the tension as sharp as it was.

He stole a glance at Obi-Wan, who was in the middle of savoring a bite of Tiingilar. He searched his mind desperately, trying to think of a conversation piece that would bring out the best of both Obi-Wan and his buir. The Jedi were out, for very obvious reasons. The clones were out, because that probably didn’t show his buir in the best light.

All things Mandalorian were… a difficult subject. Obi-Wan of the future had known a lot about Mandalore, but from what Boba had put together that knowledge had come from working with primarily the New Mandalorians and a scattering of others, and then later the clones, so… also probably not the best place to start the discussion.

Would a discussion of fighting styles be seen as appropriate? He was pretty sure that both his buir and Obi-Wan would enjoy the discussion, they both enjoyed and were good at fighting.

But also, Boba wouldn’t put it past his buir to turn it into somenot-so-veiled threats, and Obi-Wan would probably give just as good as he got. Which was _not_ the mood he was looking for.

He stabbed at his food, frustrated. He had wanted a pleasant dinner before he dropped the whole ‘time travel absolutely karks, here’s a list of all the bad things you need to avoid, and if either of you get yourself killed I’ll do something drastic’ bomb into the conversation.

“This is quite good,” Obi-Wan said into the silence.

Boba looked up, grateful Obi-Wan had started a conversation, but all his buir did was grunt in acknowledgment.

“Buir is _very_ good in the kitchen,” Boba offered when his buir failed to deliver, determined. They _would_ have a discussion, damn it! “Everything he makes is good.”

Obi-Wan glanced between him and buir, nodding. “You’re quite lucky then, Boba. I’m afraid my own cooking skills are quite sparse, or so my poor padawan has informed me.”

Boba scowled at the reminder that Obi-Wan had a padawan. “Buir can teach you, then.”

His buir choked on a spoonful of tiingilar, eyes flashing up to stare at Boba, looking at him as though Boba had suddenly grown a second head. Of everything that had happened the past few weeks, Boba wasn’t sure why _that_ was what finally elicited a truly shocked look.

“That’s kind of you to offer… in place of your buir.” Obi-Wan looked a little like he wasn’t sure what to do with the suggestion and was simply falling back on being polite.

Still, Obi-Wan and his buir locked eyes, and he could almost _see_ them sending ‘what the kriff is going on’ messages to each other. Which… was progress, really, so Boba figured he could accept it.

Except it grew silent again.

He scowled back down at his food, why were the two of them being so stubborn!

He looked up at Obi-Wan who was once again focusing on his food, as though the sooner he finished eating the sooner he could start questioning buir and leave. The idea made Boba itch, his chest tightening a little, now that he had both buir and Obi-Wan in the same place he didn’t exactly want to let either of them out of his sight.

It was time to cheat.

“Have you ever fought a gundark?”

Obi-Wan paused, spoon halfway between his bowl and his mouth, and it was his turn to stare at Boba as though not sure he’d ever seen something like him before. When he spoke, his voice was laced with mild confusion. “Ah, yes. Strangely enough, I have. Once or twice.”

“What the kriff were you doing that you needed to fight gundarks not once, but _twice_.”

Obi-Wan’s attention turned towards his buir, lips pursed in that familiar I-know-it-sounds-ridiculous-but-it-wasn’t-my-fault way, Obi-Wan had cause to use that look way too often, Boba felt a surge of happiness, just seeing it. “It wasn’t exactly something I set out to do, it was completely accidental every time.” Boba hoped Obi-Wan told the story about the time he got trapped between the gundarks and the blurrgs, that story was as hilarious as it was implausible, yet Boba still had zero doubts about it’s veracity.

It was just the sort of thing that _happened_ to Obi-Wan.

“You have accidentally gotten into a fight with a gundark twice?” His buir repeated, still incredulous.

Obi-Wan pursed his lips, and when he spoke it was with the tone of someone who knew they’d lost. “Three times.”

Boba smirked into his stew, because in the future it would go up to five times. Though he supposed that might not happen now, since his buir and him would be taking care of Obi-Wan better and they were completely capable of keeping him out of gundark nests… probably.

His buir looked like he wasn’t sure whether to be disdainful or impressed. “That has got to be a statistical anomaly. Most people never _accidentally_ get into a fight with a gundark once.”

Obi-Wan snorted a small laugh, and his voice was a little rueful. “My life is a statistical anomaly, yes.”

It started to fall silent again, and Boba sent a glare at his buir.

His buir cleared his throat, and he looked downright pained when he forced out the next words. “So… fighting gundarks, never done that before. Any advice?”

“I doubt you’d have any problems, but if you must know… Rockslides. They haven’t failed me yet.”

His buir’s lip twitched in what might have been amusement. “I’ll keep that in mind.”

“I’m sure _you_ have some interesting stories about what you’ve ended up against,” Obi-Wan prodded, Boba was glad at least one of them knew how to keep a conversation going. He also sounded genuinely interested, which was fair, Boba’s buir _was_ interesting. “A man like you has to have some enjoyable stories up his sleeve.”

His buir leaned back in his chair, body language shifting to something a little more open. “A man like me?”

“Talented, renowned, just a little bit dangerous.” Obi-Wan raised an eyebrow. “Don’t tell me the legends about you are exaggerated, that would be disappointing.”

“Oh, I _assure_ you,” his buir’s voice dropped a little, a hint of purr entering the words; Boba put all his focus on his food because he _knew_ that tone of voice and he did _not_ need to hear it. “I _never_ disappoint.”

“I’m going to go make tea,” Boba announced, now that his buir and Obi-Wan were chatting at least somewhat pleasantly and seemed capable of keeping themselves entertained without Boba’s constant presence it was time for Boba to start moving through the rest of the plan.

His buir sent him a thoughtful look, probably remembering the fuss Boba had made about him getting the _good_ tea. His buir looked like he thought he was getting closer and closer to putting the puzzle together.

If it were anything less impossible than time travel, he thought his buir would have probably been able to figure it out.

His buir was clever.

He moved into the kitchen, though he kept the door opened just enough that he could keep an eye on the two of them.

For a moment he worried that his leaving the room had ruined the flow of conversation, but after a moment, he could see his buir talking again.

He relaxed focusing on starting on the tea.

Obi-Wan always insisted that he wasn’t particular about his tea. It was up there on the list of Obi-Wan’s biggest lies right after ‘I’m just fine, Boba’ and right before ‘Stop worrying, it’s nothing more than a minor injury’.

Obi-Wan _would_ drink just about anything—Boba might have tested it a few times by trying to make the worst concoctions he could think of—with a smile and a thank you. But when it came to actual enjoyment he was far more discerning, and Boba wanted to prove to this younger Obi-Wan that Boba could make the _best_ tea.

Boba bet the man’s unfortuantely-existing padawan couldn’t even say the same.

He made a face as he thought of the padawan again. From his memories of back then, the padawan been gotten pretty famous during the war, but Boba hadn’t actually known him and Obi-Wan hadn’t much talked about his padawan well... ever in the years when the two of them had become… friends, family, whatever they’d been.

Which was fair, Boba imagined the padawan had probably died about the same time the rest of the Jedi had and that was a… painful subject at the best of times.

Still, Boba didn’t like the thought of some snot-nosed brat pushing their nose into things. Which, he thought as he looked at his own small his hands as he moved the kettle off the heat, was probably some sort of irony.

He’d probably have to at least _pretend_ to be nice to the padawan, at least for a little bit.

He hoped Obi-Wan was appreciative of Boba’s good will.

He brought the tea back into the room to see that his buir and Obi-Wan were still talking, leaning across the table, their voices slightly lowered in what didn’t even seem an entirely aggressive display.

The flash of satisfaction he felt at the sight was well-deserved, in Boba’s honest opinion.

They both turned to look at him as he entered with the tea, and Boba watched as Obi-Wan’s forehead smoothed out as he took in a deep breath.

“Is that Alderaanian Yasmine tea?” he sounded distinctly surprised, but also _quite_ pleased. Boba sent his buir a sharp grin.

His buir nodded. “Yes, it was recommended to me by a friend I have.”

Obi-Wan took the proffered tea eagerly. The sight of him bringing it carefully to his face as he breathed in the scent caused an ache of loss in Boba’s chest, the sight a perfect replica of what Obi-Wan had always done in the future with a truly _good_ cup of tea.

“Your friend has excellent taste.”

His buir took his own offered tea with much less enthusiasm, but Boba figured he’d get used to tea in the house soon enough, compromises were important, and this would make Obi-Wan happy.

It was only fair, since Obi-Wan was going to have to get used to his buir’s habits too.

—Obi-Wan hadn’t agreed to stay, Obi-Wan still didn’t even know who they were, who _Boba_ was. But Boba could fix that. He had to.—

Buir snorted. “If you knew my friend you wouldn’t think so, but apparently a friend of said friend is the opinionated type and made a list.”

Obi-Wan took a sip of tea and sighed pleasantly. “Thank you, Boba. You clearly have quite the talent for making tea.”

Boba had never quite been able to stop himself from reacting to Obi-Wan’s praise, and the reaction was worse in his ten-year-old body, he could feel himself practically _preening_. He was a little disgusted with himself, he had _composure_ , thank you very much. “I can keep making it for you.”

His buir and Obi-Wan exchanged a significant look. Boba paused, trying to read into what that meant. Those were looks of two people who were on the same page, which… didn’t make sense. He was fairly certain they were both still in the ‘feel each other out’ stage.

He’d keep a closer eye on them.

“Well, I’d love to speak with your friend, get _their_ friend’s tea list from them,” Obi-Wan told his buir, whatever the looks had been about they had clearly moved on.

“Name’s Dexter Jettster, he’ll share anything with you for the right price.”

Obi-Wan paused. “As in Dex of Dex’s diner, Dexter Jettster?”

His buir looked surprised. “Didn’t know Dex was known within Jedi circles.”

Obi-Wan snorted. “Dex will surprise you, but no, he’s not really known within Jedi circles. The two of us have been friends for almost two decades now.” He looked down at the tea. “In fact, I’m fairly certain that the ‘friend’ Dex got his tea list from is actually me.” He grinned. “I do have excellent taste, if I say so myself.”

“Really, you’re friends with Dex,” his buir sounded curious despite himself. “Two decades? I’d be very eager to know how a baby Jedi and a scoundrel like Dex became friends.”

Boba was in agreement, he didn’t think he knew that story, and he knew a startling number of Obi-Wan’s stories. The man had been inclined to tell them, during some of his harder days, sharing memories of _better_ times.

“Perhaps a story for a later time,” Obi-Wan suggested, and the way his ears went pink meant that Boba was _going_ to pry that story out of him. Knowing Obi-Wan it’d be ridiculous and over the top; it was how most of Obi-Wan’s stories went.

Boba took a sip of his tea, determined that it really was excellently made and still the worst; he set it on the table, slipping away and to his room.

The files he’d put together the past few weeks were hidden, and it took him a few minutes to get them all out of their various hiding places. He didn’t _think_ his buir would have tried to snoop, but he hadn’t wanted to chance it either.

He collected them all.

The information on the chips in the clones he’d been able to download from deep within the Kaminoan servers that he didn’t think he’d have been able to find if he hadn’t known they were there.

Proof of Dooku’s involvement.

Proof of someone _else’s_ involvement, though unfortunately there had been nothing to distinctively match him to Palpatine.

The vague timeline Boba had tried to put together of the last days of the Republic, though admittedly it was probably mostly useless, he’d been focused on revenge and thrown in prison, and after he’d been focused on learning to be stronger, faster, better.

His better detailed notes on how the Empire had grown, what he knew about the strong, important players who might still be around now. People like Tarkin or Yularen or Vader.

He hoped they wouldn’t need most of it, after all, if they could deal with the chips that was one of the biggest threats gone and out of the way.

And if he could prove at least one or two other things from his list, then they’d _have_ to believe him about Palpatine and then the whole war would collapse and neither his buir or Obi-Wan would die.

It was an almost ridiculously simple plan, but that meant fewer things that could go wrong.

He took a deep breath, quietly rehearsing what he was going to say.

He needed them to listen. He needed them to _stay_.

—There was still too much of the future he had no control over, too many people’s choices. And he recognized, even if he hated it, that he couldn’t take those choices away from them. He couldn’t _make_ Obi-Wan stay, not and make Obi-Wan happy… Not the way he could keep his buir with him.—

But he could stack the cards as much in his favor as he could, and then maybe Obi-Wan would _choose_ it.

It was going to work out, Boba reminded himself, it _had_ to.

He moved back into the main room, frowning when he found it empty, there was noise in the kitchen and he followed it.

“Where’s Obi-Wan?” Boba set a sharp look on his buir who was busy cleaning the kitchen, humming a little in a way that meant he was deep in thought.

His buir looked up, eyebrow raised in surprise. “We made a deal. I gave him the information on the person who hired me for the Amidala job. I imagine he’s headed to Geonosis to get rid of the threat.”

Boba felt his jaw drop. His buir had _what_? _Why?_

His buir wasn’t supposed to be helpful! His buir was _never_ helpful. “Why would you _do_ that?” His voice was pitched way too high, even given his ten year old vocal chords.

“The deal was for you,” his buir told him, and _where had Boba messed up, what had he done wrong_. “The Jedi will be back to help once his current mission is over.”

There suddenly seemed far less oxygen in the room than there’d been a moment before. Once his current mission was over was too late.

How long had he been in his room? Would he be able to catch Obi-Wan before he left? Obi-Wan couldn’t go to Geonosis.

Obi-Wan going to Geonosis meant him getting chained up in an arena to be eaten by animals and then a war starting. Boba’s _whole_ plan involved delaying the start of the war as long as possible, if not stopping it outright.

They needed to get to Geonosis. They needed to get to Geonosis _right_ now and stop Obi-Wan from falling into the trap.

Kark. Kark. Kark. Had his buir _known_ it was a trap? Boba hadn’t ever known what his buir had _actually_ known, and he regretted that more and more.

He would interrogate his buir on their way to Geonosis.

Except…

Everything froze, going a little blurry.

If his buir went to Geonosis he might die.

If they didn’t go to Geonosis it was impossible to tell what would change and then _Obi-Wan_ might die.

Boba’s whole world seemed to cave in on his chest, pushing out all of the air and making it impossible to breathe.

Boba couldn’t lose him again. He couldn’t lose _either_ of them. He couldn’t. He was gasping for air, almost desperately, trying to breathe past the weight bearing down on his chest.

Everything was fuzzy, sounds and sights blurred at the edges, the sensation of arms around him, something touching his forehead, firm commands to _breathe_.

Boba didn’t follow anyone’s orders but his own, but the command _did_ seem like a good suggestion, even if he found he wasn’t sure how to follow through.

His hand was moving on it’s own, being pulled, he realized, until it was resting on something flat and warm, moving up and down.

He concentrated on the pattern, trying to drown everything else out.

Things steadied out slowly as his lungs remembered how to work.

He was kneeling on the ground the beginning of tears in his eyes, his buir kneeling in front of him, their foreheads touching as his buir breathed in and out with exaggerated motions that Boba could feel from where his hand was resting on his buir’s chest.

He’d just had a panic attack, Boba noted with confusion, though the emotion was still too distant for him to fully feel.

He’d never had a panic attack before in his life, not once in his thirty odd years. Not when he’d lost buir, not when he’d been abandoned and alone, not when he’d faced odds he had no chance against, not when he’d lost Obi-Wan. Not even when he’d gone and karking _died_.

“Are you all right, Bob’ika?” his buir’s voice was somehow calm and controlled, a hand running up and down Boba’s back in a soothing pattern.

There wasn’t time to think about what had just happened, and Boba shoved this new issue straight into the pile of things he didn’t have the time, or energy, or desire, to think about.

Right now he just had to figure out how to keep his buir safe here on Kamino while he went to save Obi-Wan, dragging him back to safety by that stupid, ugly mullet if he had to.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> For those wondering, no Boba doesn't know that Vader and Anakin are the same person... yet. That realization WILL come.
> 
> Jango has, what he thinks, is a good reason for trading the information to Obi-Wan, even if Boba is very not happy with it right now. Alas, the pains of not communicating properly.
> 
> No, no, Boba is not about to do something drastic and ill-advised, why would you THINK that!? Ill-advised is totally a question of perspective anyways, Boba's upcoming plan is TOTALLY advised.


End file.
